There is a very specific feeling Katie Dippold has been chasing her whole career. She traces it back to a haunted house on the Long Branch boardwalk in New Jersey—one she was far too young to be inside. She remembers screaming. She remembers laughing so hard she could barely breathe. She remembers those two things happening at exactly the same time.

When the new cinematic DC Universe officially launched its flagship hero back into the sky, the world looked up in awe. Superman was exactly what audiences and critics had been begging for over the last decade: a pitch-perfect execution of the classic superhero mythos. It deserved every single ounce of the hype it received. It was a triumph of modern blockbuster filmmaking that knew precisely what it was. But less than a year later, the skies have darkened over Metropolis.

You know the feeling. Endless fluorescent-lit corridors. Carpet that smells faintly of damp. A room that should have an exit but somehow doesn’t.

There is a strange, specific kind of nostalgia gripping modern audiences: a collective ache for a cinematic era many of us barely lived through. Scroll through social media today and you will not find viral edits of the latest streaming romantic comedy. You will find a loop of Heath Ledger dancing across concrete bleachers, Alicia Silverstone spinning in a yellow plaid skirt, Jennifer Garner sobbing over a pink plastic dollhouse.